


another you (and other lovely clouds)

by sangiebyheart



Series: love in its many forms. [5]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Disney don't sue me, Friends to Lovers, Hongjoong is Elsa in this one, M/M, Magical Realism, Miscommunication, Snowed In, Writertiny Secret Santa 2020, Yunho is the new and improved version of Zeus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangiebyheart/pseuds/sangiebyheart
Summary: Have you ever met a thunderstorm in winter?Lightning in the air, raw, tangible. Ice on the ground, hard, unforgiving.It is where they meet that the true spectacle begins.Or, in which Jeong Yunho chases after a snowstorm for some warmth.
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong
Series: love in its many forms. [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015008
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17





	another you (and other lovely clouds)

**Author's Note:**

> this work is for delaney and the writertiny secret santa!! :))
> 
> i hope you like what I made of 'snowstorm'. put a little magic in there for you. 
> 
> enjoy!!!

It is a regular Thursday night.

Jeong Yunho is doing his regular deeds.

He stands, alone, in the middle of a bright room. The center of his own attention, the sole figure in a vast space that appears to stretch on forever, and yet, he ends up feeling so small, so cornered.

He allows himself to step closer to his competitor, the man in the mirror, the other soul who does as Yunho does, follows him with but a minuscule delay, and sometimes, all Yunho does on the regular nights, is marvel at himself and the fatigue etched into his features, the stark determination in his eyes, the heavy rise and fall of his chest when he has finished a routine - his own, someone else’s, things that blur the line between creativity and work.

A jolt.

His fingers twitch.

Light flickers.

It is late. 

Well past midnight when he checks his phone - _Hongjoong hours_ , one, then two in the morning, perhaps even later the longer he stares himself down for no reason at all.

Yunho does not usually let himself stay so late because there is no immediate concern that should warrant making such a bad decision.

So why does he remain tonight?

Why does he listen to the silence when the music has stopped, and he has no intentions of starting it up again? Why does he watch as the hour grows late and the night darker, but all he is witness to is the same white, bothersome light, straining his eyes?

Courage, is the answer.

Or lack of it, when honesty calls for the response.

He is sprawled out on his back now, hands clutching his chest, his heart, pulling it out. Feeling the steady _thump, thump, thump_ against his fingertips. Yunho wills himself to listen, wills himself to calm and imagine the seas, fast pace but peace among the waves, and he breathes in and out to regain his focus.

Tonight is not so regular a Thursday, after all, if Yunho is sincere to himself.

Tonight is the night that marks one week of a kiss in the dark, a kiss in the light, a kiss to spread the electricity through his veins and push the ice out of someone else’s. A kiss that went away when the sun touched reddened cheeks, and a different call beckoned them away, out of a grasp that could have held a greater meaning to them both, if only they would let it.

Hongjoong does not let it, as it appears.

Yunho wishes he would, though.

Which is, evidently, the cause for his late-night lamenting.

Hongjoong’s unspoken rejection, the avoidance that followed when Yunho gave his widest smile in the morning after, and all Hongjoong did was turn his eyes away, bowing his head, as though ashamed of Yunho, ashamed of himself.

A person so proud, a person so confident like Hongjoong, clever, creative, courageous, and so steadfast in his beliefs — Yunho would have never thought that someone like him would seek to ignore his existence.

Him. Jeong Yunho. His oldest friend here at KQ.

But does it matter, really, how long a fragile friendship has lasted when all it takes to shatter it is one step over the wrong threshold?

It does to Yunho, at the very least. There lies a meaning in everything, especially the things you hold close like treasure chests in your heart. A single coin flipped between fingers, a small moment on a lonely night, and there is something to be read in-between the lines that Yunho intends to pull out of Hongjoong, by any means necessary.

Yunho has long since reconciled with the truth - that what he feels towards Hongjoong surpasses the normal amount of feelings you are meant to harbor towards the leader of your group, something that has its roots in a deep, loving brotherhood and yet has grown out of control, into his chest, hiding Yunho’s heart in a warm embrace of branches that only wait for spring to make them appear so wonderfully green again.

There is no distaste for winter, not when it has the life in him bloom so bright as well. Not when a sole touch, though freezing, has him chasing a high he did not know he could have. Snowflakes on his skin, brought by wandering hands, patterns so detailed, Yunho did not expect any less from someone with a mind as innovative as Hongjoong’s.

Yunho wonders, if his sparks still remain under Hongjoong’s skin, if he even felt it enough to keep a part of Yunho with him throughout the week.

There is no way of knowing, unless he asks. Directly approaches the person who has been at the forefront of his thoughts for the better part of the past year.

That has been his plan for this very regular Thursday night.

Friday, he corrects, but it is a blur. 

All he remembers is irregularity.

His phone chimes.

Yunho is bone-tired, he realizes. He realizes this, because his eyes are closed and he imagines himself getting up, walking towards his phone, checking to see which app he has forgotten to turn the notifications off for, but when another comes and another still, Yunho is startled out of something akin to a nap. Transported back into the real world, the light above him almost hurts, his back aches, but he stretches before getting up, walking the small distance towards his bag, where his phone is.

The first notification is an emergency alert - sent automatically, probably city-wide. A snowstorm shutting down roads, bridges, the metro come the next day. Yunho remembered the snow falling when he came to the studios, but he had not ventured a look outside in a few hours. He did not anticipate it getting so bad, it rarely ever did.

The second is a message from Seonghwa in their group chat, asking if Hongjoong and Yunho are at the studio still, not making insane attempts to forge their way through a heavy snowstorm. For a second, Yunho asks himself what Seonghwa is doing up, but he must have been waiting for Hongjoong to come home again, with no success.

Yunho sighs when he sees the third message, Hongjoong’s reply.

_Yunho’s at the studio?_

Yeah.

Yunho is at the studio. Or a few feet away, at least.

A few, or a lot. 

He would just have to walk through the common area, go down the stairs, take a left and pass the vending machine, then—yeah, Yunho is at the studio just fine. At Hongjoong’s studio, where he has meant to be all evening, before he ultimately chickened out and decided to practice under the false pretense of inner peace and focus.

Now, his thumb hovers over the keyboard, typing out a reply before he can think any better of it.

 _I’m at the practice room, don’t worry,_ he writes, for Seonghwa’s sake, mostly. He can imagine Hongjoong’s eyes bulging in panic, as any and all confrontation with the fact that Yunho is existing, and existing in any vicinity of Hongjoong, is an apparent shock these days, an inescapable reminder of what he did with him.

Yunho did not expect the weather to become an unfair player tonight, meddling with their affairs as though it was a part of it. Yunho is not quite like a God, far from it - Zeus, the only one who could wield lightning with a power so great that he misused it frequently, is no one Yunho would wish to be likened to. He is not so boisterous, and he is quite happy with that status.

Perhaps he does think too highly of himself, after all. What should a force of nature care for him now, on a night like tonight?

All he knows is, that it has trapped him here. That there is hardly anything he can do besides sit it out until the morning. Hongjoong is left with much the same choice, except perhaps, if he truly wanted to, he could fight his way through a storm.

Ice takes a liking to him, to Hongjoong. It may grant him an unspoken wish, and bring him far away from Yunho.

_It’s probably for the best if you two stay the night. Sleep in one of the break rooms. I’ll let the manager know._

It is Seonghwa’s final message. All he sends afterwards is a silly sticker of a sleeping duck, animated, a white bear kissing the top of its head, a little heart floating in the air above them. It makes Yunho laugh to himself and wish Seonghwa a good night.

Hongjoong responds with silence.

Yunho thinks now is as good a time as any to make good of his resolution to speak to Hongjoong, if they are stuck here until morning. Or before Hongjoong takes flight and the snowstorm wraps its arms around him in an icy hug that he welcomes more than the spark that runs between them.

Yunho is on his feet faster than his doubts, his inner reluctance to just let it be and allow them to go back to a normal he does not want. 

In the end, he cannot decide for Hongjoong - but he shall hope until he must give it up. After all, Hongjoong has not taught him to dream small.

(Yunho is almost certain that _this_ is not what Hongjoong meant by that. But Yunho likes to bend the rules, just this once.)

He freshens up in the bathroom, checks if the tousled mop on his head still counts as a cute and intended chaos rather than a product of his constant worrying and tumultuous practice. He ignores how tired he is, how he would rather just plant himself on one of the sofas way too small for his body and nod off to sweeter dreams than feared reality.

However, not a minute later, he knocks on the door to Hongjoong’s studio, courtesy in place where he would rather just be rude and intrude, but this is Hongjoong’s sacred place, and Yunho is not an asshole. He does have some semblance of respect towards his leader. 

His friend.

If they even are friends, after last week.

They are. Why would they not be?

“Come in,” Hongjoong calls from the inside.

Yunho barely hears it, which is good, since it does not allow him an opportunity to read into Hongjoong’s tone. For all he knows, it could have been cheerful, said with a smile and a laugh, and Hongjoong might just kiss him as soon as Yunho opens the door.

He does not, but Yunho has expected as much. It does not help his own urge, though, to simply pull Hongjoong up, pull him close, pull him in, because he knows what it feels like now, how is he ever supposed to forget it?

Hongjoong stares at him, manages to send an icicle through Yunho’s heart with how uncertain he is. This is not Hongjoong, but an imitation of him. The puff of warm air in the stillness of the cold, of what Hongjoong is meant to be, is nowhere to be found.

It is freezing, inside Hongjoong’s studio. Yunho has not been here all too often before, but he knows that this is not normal.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Can I hang in here, for a bit?”

“I can hardly stop you, can I?” 

Yunho frowns at that.

Hongjoong usually prefers his solitude when working on a project, likes to channel his entire attention into his work - and when it is not absolutely necessary, not to be avoided, he sends out any possible distractions. 

Hongjoong does not seem to be working. Yunho is a distraction, regardless.

“What is up with you?” Yunho asks, too exhausted to stop himself, or the agitation which so viciously coats his tone. That is not the intended angle with which he wishes to address this issue, not at all, because he does not go into the offensive with the aim to make Hongjoong feel guilty.

Hongjoong senses as much, because he does not take the bait Yunho put out despite himself. He just sits in his chair, fingers tapping against the edge of the table. Looking all kinds of sorry, mostly for himself.

“You can stay here,” Hongjoong says, turning away and clearing his throat. “I don’t mind.”

Yunho so desperately wants to ask him for the truth. A week’s worth of hurt lies behind him, and perhaps, he should not invite the demon in when it is already fletching its teeth at him, but Yunho is weak, so weak, and he is tired.

Cold, he is, too. It does not surprise Yunho that this is the last of his worries.

“Thank you,” Yunho says, quiet, his eyes remaining on Hongjoong’s frame for another few seconds before he ultimately averts his gaze, swallowing the disappointment rising to his throat. He lets himself fall on top of Hongjoong’s sofa, sinking into old, sort of smelly cushions, in search of a comfort he knows he cannot find in the materialistic.

The sigh he releases is not one of fatigue, even as Hongjoong picks up on it as such.

“If you—need to, you can take a nap. You must be tired if you stayed here all evening,” Hongjoong mumbles, and it sounds—stilted. As though it is not Hongjoong, his friend, his leader, speaking to make sure Yunho is taken care of after all his hard work, but someone Yunho barely knows, a stranger, an acquaintance, maybe. Someone who only means to be polite, because what else is there in life, but false courtesy where pretension reigns highest?

Hongjoong is the king of authenticity, in Yunho’s eyes. He does not hide his true self, never does, never will.

Being witness to the horrible contrast feels like a prospect of a reality Yunho does not want to see. A reality where he will not be at the forefront of experiencing the true Kim Hongjoong, in all his creativity, his imperfections and his inspirations. Where Yunho will only be able to watch it from afar, but whenever he shall get close, there will remain—distance.

He may be reading too much into it—it has been a week, a mere week, Yunho should not so easily lose confidence.

But he does, when Hongjoong cannot even take a look at him for longer than he has to.

He craves familiarity—he craves _their_ familiarity.

The kind where they are so attuned to one another that sharing that kiss was not something either of them feared - for fear speaks of the unknown, of being unaware of what is to come, who they are dealing with. And in that moment, one week ago - there was none of that.

There had been just the two of them. Kim Hongjoong, Jeong Yunho. A mutual push, a mutual pull, and a thunderstorm in winter’s time that felt so meaningful that it seemed as if it could last for more than just one night.

An eternity, perhaps. Maybe infinity, if luck would receive them in its gentle home.

He cannot have that, though. Not when he feels like his tomorrow is already slipping away from him.

Yunho takes a leap. Reaches for that familiarity, for Hongjoong.

“Only—only if you take a nap with me.”

Or overreaches. He hopes he is not overreaching.

“I… don’t know if that is a good idea, Yunho,” Hongjoong answers, his back still towards Yunho, but his voice is so full of pain that he is not trying to mask, and as much as it hurts his heart, Yunho cannot help but feel a tiny portion of _relief_.

Relief that Hongjoong is not concealing how affected he is, after all.

“ _Hongjoong_ ,” Yunho calls. The air is still, frozen, if you will. Hongjoong might just be holding his breath. “Why not?”

Hongjoong does not answer him verbally - an exasperated sound of distress leaves his lips, one that chokes halfway between a sob and a scream. Hongjoong buries his head in his hands, fingers raking through his hair, and Yunho stands to come to aid in the sparring contest against Hongjoong’s frustrations.

Yunho settles a hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder and mentally applauds Hongjoong for not flinching at the touch.

It is a paradox how, in a cold room, Hongjoong is still so delightfully, vividly _warm_.

“Lie down with me,” Yunho whispers, “we’re trapped here for the night. I know we can—pass the time. Warm up together.”

“Pretty cold in here, huh?” Hongjoong quips, a strain in his voice, a sad little laugh the ending note. Reprimanding himself. “Sorry about that.”

“You know I don’t mind,” Yunho reassures him, fingers wandering to curl his arm around Hongjoong’s hunched form and crouching to scoop Hongjoong from his chair and into his hold.

The thing about storms - snowstorms in Seoul, thunderstorms in studios - is that you need to take shelter from them, no matter how beautiful they may look. Caught up in the thick of it, you cannot stand a true chance against them. You need a safe harbor, at the end of the day, a place to observe where it cannot hurt you.

Yunho guides them to the sofa, sits down first and stretches out over the minimal space as comfortably as he is able, and then he pulls at Hongjoong, gently, coaxes him to a softer state of vulnerability, until their eyes meet again and Hongjoong’s own tired features finally come to light.

Here, cuddling against Yunho’s broad chest, Hongjoong loses the tension in his shoulders, lets his hands roam over familiar territory and his legs tangle with Yunho’s. 

Lets himself _be_ , just as he wishes, with Yunho.

It makes Yunho’s heart feel lighter.

It is quiet, with their breaths fading out of notice. The room does not have any windows for them to marvel at the night’s ceaseless snowfall, the light is dimmed immensely, especially in comparison to the unbearable brightness of the practice room, and Yunho has to fight against the grips of sleep, in spite of the late hour calling for him so incessantly.

“I’m sorry, Yunho,” Hongjoong whispers, after a moment, hand rising to rub at his eye and the evidence of inner troubles out of existence. “I know why you’re here.”

Yunho hums, patient. “Why am I here, then?”

“To stop me before I do something even more stupid than I already am,” Hongjoong replies. 

“I just don’t—want you to shut me out anymore,” Yunho says. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Hongjoong. I’m—I’m the same guy I was before you and I kissed.”

“Don’t act like it doesn’t change anything. Like it hasn’t changed _everything_ ,” Hongjoong counters, burying his head further into Yunho’s chest. It is ironic, how he rediscovers one of his favorite places with wandering hands, while his tongue speaks of uncertainty so profound, it is hard to allow the two opposites to exist at the same time.

Everyone is allowed their insecurity, of course—Yunho cannot help but fall for illusions that paint his leader as someone who does not experience it, not anymore.

“We are always changing, for better or for worse—” Yunho replies, sure of himself where Hongjoong is not. “I don’t see how this would be any different.”

A mess of limbs is all they are, messier still when Hongjoong tries to prop himself up on his elbows without putting his entire weight on Yunho’s - not that it is within his capabilities, on a couch as small as this one, but Yunho admires his efforts. After a lot of shuffling and groaning, as well as a friendly laugh of amusement later, Hongjoong’s head shares the armrest with Yunho’s head, not too scared of the proximity he creates.

Something else to admire - courage has not quite left Hongjoong just yet.

Hongjoong would have to scare it away, for it to leave him on its own volition.

“You’re tired,” Hongjoong says, almost out of nowhere, but his new position grants him a much better access to Yunho’s face than before, and now that Hongjoong _looks_ , examines him, his features, the bags under his eyes and the barely concealed yawns around Yunho’s lips, there is nothing Yunho can do to prevent the keen observation from being made.

“Not too much,” Yunho promises, smiling and lifting a hand to Hongjoong’s face.

Again, there is an undeniable warmth where his fingers sprawl out over cherry cheeks, and his lips widen when Hongjoong does not bat his hand away, like Yunho is afraid he would.

“It’s late, Yunho. You should sleep, really,” Hongjoong says, quieter now, as though his voice alone were music, inviting Yunho to dance a waltz with heavy slumber, when he would rather slow dance with Hongjoong himself instead. “This is my terrain, you’re not meant for this time of night, remember?”

“Sure I am,” Yunho counters, determined in spite of another yawn emerging, marking his words as rather unconvincing. “Have a bit more faith in me, why don’t you? Lightning strikes are best seen at night, aren’t they?”

There is a chuckle, a figment of Yunho’s vivid imagination, or perhaps just Hongjoong laughing at the poor, poor simile. “Oh yeah?” He taunts, “Care to give me a show, then?”

“Lights might go out if I—” He begins to explain, stopping himself with a sigh when Hongjoong smirks at him in satisfaction, for he knows that Yunho does not have enough energy to produce the lightning himself and would have to tap into other sources of electricity to make a spectacle out of the sparks between his fingertips. “Ah, Hongjoong, don’t play these games with me.”

“Later, then,” Hongjoong says, feigning utter disappointment with a dramatic sigh. “After a nap, maybe?”

After a long silence’s worth of consideration, Yunho finally relents, tugging Hongjoong a little closer to his body. He whispers his one and only condition, before his eyes can slip shut and trust will be all he has to rely on, “Promise you’ll stay with me, and I will take a nap.”

It is a fair bargain, if Yunho may be so bold to say so. It is not just Hongjoong who may need the reassurance that they are still them, still familiar, still friendly, and Yunho is not afraid to display his hopefulness.

Aside from that, though, all he wants, all he needs, is a sign that Hongjoong will not run away. And if Yunho can trust in something, it is that one Kim Hongjoong shall always keep his promises - no matter what, come hell or high water, come rainfall or snowstorm.

“I promise,” Hongjoong says, voice far from the fragility Yunho had come upon just a few minutes ago. He takes a shaky breath, though, which Yunho knows to recognize as preparation for words that do not pass lips so easily. Yunho is bracing himself for an impact he might not like, cannot prevent, but what he hears is not at all frightening, in the end, “we can—we can talk later, when you wake up. Promise you that, too.”

“Thank you, Hongjoong,” Yunho smiles, daring to plant a tender kiss against Hongjoong’s forehead.

He is out by the time his eyes fall shut, and he dreams of Hongjoong’s arms around him, curling into Yunho’s body to get as comfortable as possible.

(When he briefly wakes three hours later, a sleeping leader in his hold, he is glad it was not just a dream.)

  
  


It is six in the morning by the time both wake from their beauty sleep.

Hongjoong clearly did not remember joining Yunho in dreamland, because disorientation asks him for directions for a solid minute before Yunho has a chance to get through to Hongjoong, and ask him if he fancies a coffee in the break room before they get rescued from the storm and taken home at last.

The coffee is—less than stellar, coming from a coffee vending machine that none of them ever use. While he sips the dark-brown abomination in his little plastic cup, Yunho tries his hardest to imagine his usual Starbucks order, hoping he might just trick his taste buds into tasting it instead.

Hongjoong insists they share a bag of gummy bears, just to have _something_ in their stomachs until they get to have food that has some actual sustenance.

Then, they sit like this. 

Against the windows in the large break room, across from each other, staring out into a dark winter’s night and a snowstorm that will not show mercy to a city so unprepared.

Or two fools alone at a company building, right above a 7/11 store that may or may not open, depending on how their luck changes in the coming hours.

It is peaceful, almost.

Warm, beneath the cold, because the walls are decorated with colorful images of latest comebacks, bright concepts, and not just the gray and white that Yunho has gotten sick of seeing in practice rooms and studios. It is more homely, like this, inches closer to something comfortable and welcoming, especially with Hongjoong curled up in his large, cozy sweater right before him, just an arm’s reach away, and Yunho smiles because he cannot help it.

These feelings for Hongjoong are something he treasures, reciprocated or not. Gratitude is hardly a word to describe what he feels for him, affection to shy an expression. Yunho’s affinity for anything electric, anything that can shake your body to the core and reawaken it from a deep sleep you did not even notice it being in—it all fades away in contrast to the sparks which fly - often quite literally - when Yunho is near Hongjoong.

Yunho could probably shoot lightning from the skies, from but one smile Hongjoong will send his way, just for him, a specialty, a measured pick from Hongjoong’s repertoire of sweetness. Sure, Hongjoong can be stern when he needs to be, scolds them when they are out of line, and he certainly loses his patience after a day longer than the day before, but what Yunho knows, can rely on, can trust upon, is this;

Hongjoong will always be there for them, all of them; be it with a soothing smile, an encouraging nod, a firm word of advice - all you had to do was ask for it.

Yunho can only hope that his abilities reach far enough to return the favor.

“Hongjoong?” He says, treading lightly, because darkness still looms just a few feet away from them, and Hongjoong may find himself yet attached to its longing hold.

Hongjoong meets his eye, braver now than he has been the entire night, but really, Yunho has not once doubted Hongjoong’s courage, even as it played a game of hide and seek without telling Hongjoong that he would be the one having to search.

“Yes?” Hongjoong returns with a trembling voice, setting his cup down on the table. His entire demeanor changes from nothing more than a gentle call of his name, and he does look—afraid, scared, frightened like a lamb. Subtly so; for all who tell of it, truly, are his eyes, big and beautiful and blown wide to take in the entire scope of danger that might befall him in the coming minutes.

Yunho does not like it, this look on him, though he shall be the last person to begrudge Hongjoong for it. He shuffles closer to him, a careful approach to not alarm Hongjoong any further, and when he sits at a small distance, their knees touching, he puts a hand on Hongjoong’s thigh, his lips pulling up at the side.

“Not ready yet, huh?” He asks, and Hongjoong reacts with a grimace.

“Sorry,” Hongjoong apologizes, attempting a smile in return for Yunho’s consideration, and Yunho wishes he could cast it away, all that sadness and insecurity, but for now, all he does is accept the vulnerability Hongjoong allows him to witness and practice patience.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yunho reassures him. “We can talk about something else.”

“Like what?” Hongjoong asks.

“Like...” Yunho hums in thought, closing his eyes to scour his brain for something else to talk to him about - preferably something that does not end in an empty conversation just to fill the silence. Yunho knows Hongjoong would rather die than endure any more unnecessary small talk than he already has to on a daily basis. Hongjoong is polite, of course, and does not voice a single complaint when he does engage in it, but you cannot fault the guy for wanting to avoid it altogether.

What Hongjoong loves to indulge in, however, is his passions; his own and other people’s, and he will gladly spend hours telling his stories and listening others tell theirs.

So, ultimately, Yunho decides to ask a question he already knows the answer to, “Like... Why was your studio so cold when I came in?”

Hongjoong gives a quiet chuckle - Hongjoong must be quite aware that Yunho is not as clueless as he pretends to be, but he does not call him out on it. “I was practicing,” he answers, proud and firm, and his smile turns steadier, to Yunho’s utter delight.

“Practicing what?”

“Oh, the usual,” Hongjoong recounts, casual as he can manage before a smirk falls to his features. He makes elaborate arm movements, all for show, because his magic runs strong in his palms, but when Hongjoong holds his hand to Yunho’s face, Yunho’s eyes focus on the icy shimmers of a snowflake, large in diameter, one that most certainly was not there before.

Its center rests between Hongjoong’s thumb and pointer finger, a symmetric pattern emerging in sharp needles to its outside, before separating into three separate offspring, smaller, yet no less intricate in their design.

It is quite breathtaking, as cold as it may be.

“Wow,” Yunho says, because speech has forsaken him in light of such an astounding display of magic only one Kim Hongjoong could procure.

“What do you think? I’m getting good, right?”

Yunho nods, in awe still, but he manages, “Elsa’s got nothing on you, Hongjoong,” which sparks a laugh so full, it startles Yunho because the thigh under his touch shakes as Hongjoong gives his laugh with his whole body, and he leans forward into Yunho’s space without taking much notice of it.

“I’m serious!” Yunho says, as his voice gets swept up in the laughter, and soon enough he is chuckling happily himself. “It’s so fucking cool, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do,” Hongjoong answers, letting the snowflake disappear inside his palm as though it nothing.

“Can I have one?” Yunho asks, grinning wide, “As in, in my hands? Can you do that?”

Hongjoong blinks for a moment, a bit taken aback by Yunho’s enthusiastic request, but then he brings his hand up again, a fresh snowflake between his fingers - the pattern is no less detailed, the snowflake a hexagonal shape and zigzagging towards a center point. Hongjoong reaches for Yunho’s hand, as natural an action as can be, and lies the snowflake down carefully, fulfilling not just one but two of Yunho’s deepest desires.

Hongjoong’s fingers trace along the insides of Yunho’s palm for another moment before he withdraws them entirely, waiting with bated breath for the fate of his little creation without Hongjoong’s determined protection.

Water drips to the floor, their faces falling with it at the sight.

“Wait, let me just—” Hongjoong mumbles, not waiting for Yunho to lament over the loss, before another is placed into his open palm.

Shaped like a star with six ends, needles springing from every arm.

What Yunho does not expect is for Hongjoong’s hand to never leave his - instead, he cups it from each side, creating both a shield and a blanket for the snowflake, nice and cozy and cold enough for it to remain intact even against Yunho’s warm skin.

It tingles, where Hongjoong touches him, the ice in his veins transferring into Yunho’s from the contact alone, chasing away the electricity oscillating in his blood. A different sort of back and forth than the last time they did this, intertwined fingers quite unlike this, when Yunho gave into Hongjoong’s pull and kissed him, just like that.

And Hongjoong kissed him back, just like that.

Now, Yunho marvels at the snowflake in his hand, happy at the gift he has received. He shares a small smile with Hongjoong, a smile that lasts for an eternity and longer, before their eyes return to the snowflake and a comfortable silence overcomes them.

Against all odds, it is Hongjoong who dares to break it, after minutes pass and pass and a snowstorm rages on.

“You know when people call you fearless all the time, you ultimately start to get reckless,” Hongjoong says, low and quiet, melancholy trickling into his voice. “You’re not afraid of anything, so you start to think nothing can do any harm to you. Nothing has consequences anymore, since you’re not afraid of those either. And then, then you do something—stupid.”

Yunho listens, though he cannot help the sting in his heart.

“I am not fearless,” Hongjoong admits, louder now, and Yunho can hear how much of himself it took to make this confession. “I got reckless because I thought I was, but in the aftermath, I was so scared of—getting rejected. I woke up and it sunk in that I kissed you and I knew I couldn’t undo it. And then I had no idea how to move forward to deal with it.”

“What we did wasn’t reckless, Hongjoong,” Yunho says softly, trying to catch Hongjoong’s eyes, but Hongjoong is not to be swayed in his watch.

“Maybe not for you,” Hongjoong replies, shrugging. “Your heart is not as fragile as mine is when it comes to you.”

“It’s not?” Yunho counters, perplexed at this, and a little bit mad. “How do you know that? Do you think my heart is made of stone? Well, I hate to tell you this, but even stone can crumble to dust sometimes.”

He has half a heart to pull his hand away, but that would mean the death of the innocent, and Yunho would hate to see and mourn it a second time. It bears no responsibility for another’s crimes.

“I—” Hongjoong sighs. If he could, he would probably rake his fingers through his hair in distress. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Fuck, if anyone has the warmest heart out of any of us, it’s probably you.”

He gives a short laugh, and then they both add, as an afterthought, “Or Mingi, more likely.”

(Even without the fire in Mingi’s entire body, this would hold true.)

Hongjoong continues, “I just thought you… wouldn’t want the same things I want.”

“What made you think that?” Yunho asks, hoping to cover the treacherous bits of exasperation attempting to sneak into his tone. “I thought it was pretty mutual, when we kissed. God, I felt the cold spots even days afterwards.”

Hongjoong has that about him, after all - leaving a mark in your life, with different manifestations to last you forever.

“To be honest with you, my lips haven’t really stopped—prickling? And sometimes, I will have—these moments where I feel like my heart has skipped a beat, jumped out of its rhythm?” Hongjoong shares, somewhat sheepish and embarrassed, but there is a hint of excitement in his voice that brings the smile back to Yunho’s features. As long as he has left fond memories with Hongjoong, Yunho shall have some contentment to survive on until the end of his days.

“Why did you think I wouldn’t want the same things you did?” Yunho repeats, tearing his gaze away from the snowflake in defiance, regarding Hongjoong in its stead. 

To his surprise, Hongjoong looks back. “I was under the impression you just wanted to have some fun. Because dating—” Hongjoong clears his throat— “Dating takes its time and devotion and work, and you know that, which is why you only pursue casual relationships, no strings attached. And I’m not saying that you’re not allowed to do that, but when you and I kissed, I indulged in something that would hurt me in the long run. And I only realized the morning after that it was reckless of me to put my heart on the line like that, when I assumed you were just wanting to—fool around.”

Yunho sighs, shaking his head. “You know you could’ve just asked me what I wanted? Instead of assuming? Instead of _avoiding me_?”

Hongjoong at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself, as he bows his head and breaks their gaze. 

“Ask me,” Yunho gives a gentle demand, to which Hongjoong looks up again. “Ask me what I want.”

Hongjoong perks up, expression vivid with anticipation. He grins around the question when he asks it, “What do you want, Yunho?”

He has had his answer laid out before him for weeks. He does not hesitate to give it. 

“I want you, Hongjoong. Just _you_ ,” Yunho promises, leaning closer to Hongjoong, who is already only a few breaths away from him. “Same way you want me. Because I like you a whole damn lot, you know?”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Would kind of like to make you my boyfriend, too? Kiss you again? If you’d be okay with that,” Yunho says, and his cards are laid out in the open.

Numb from the distance - or the lack of it - Hongjoong is reduced to a whisper, one that Yunho feels in the way ice-cold water drips from his fingers, as Hongjoong’s hands fly away from Yunho’s to cup his face and pull him further in. “I like you, too, Yunho. _So much_.”

Feelings are tough to admit sometimes, but Yunho is glad that Hongjoong has other methods to show just how much he cares for him. Because the fervor behind the kiss that follows Hongjoong’s brittle confession is a snowstorm in and of itself, something that wraps Yunho in a flurry of snowflakes, dancing around him to engulf all of him, all of them.

Yunho does not realize it until he pulls away, but when regular-sized snowflakes fall on top of his hair, stark white against deep brown, and Hongjoong reaches up to ruffle through the mess, Yunho looks up to find a cloud floating above, snow falling down upon them in peaceful air.

“Really?” Yunho says, amused, laughing when Hongjoong’s eyes crinkle around the edges.

“Can’t help it,” Hongjoong replies, and Yunho likes that smile on his lips, knowing he was the one who put it there. “I’m a little—overwhelmed with emotions right now.”

“I suppose adding a little lightning isn’t exactly romantic, then?” 

“Let’s do that some other time, yeah?” Hongjoong suggests, raising an eyebrow in good nature and kissing Yunho’s brow when he only pouts in response.

The snowstorm worries its way through the streets still, completely unaware of its little sibling inside a company building, of the two lovers united in a white wonderland of their own creation. Jealousy drives it away hours later, after dawn has arrived with sunlight shining down upon them, glittering snowflakes resisting the warmth and never melting.

A regular Friday morning in December, with a thick white blanket covering the city, but to Hongjoong and Yunho, there is nothing quite so regular about it.

Irregularity is embraced, however, because familiarity can be found in something new, something exciting, something valuable to explore.

It is worth waking to an exaggerated shriek when Wooyoung stumbles into the room by lunch time, discovering them asleep on the floor by the window, covered in layers of dusty snow. Wooyoung makes a water bottle in the fridge burst by accident.

As much as Yunho loathes to be disturbed so suddenly, he comes to a delightful conclusion, looking towards Hongjoong on top of him;

He has never felt so warm.

_Have you ever met a thunderstorm in winter?_

_Lightning in the air, raw, tangible. Ice on the ground, hard, unforgiving._

_It is where they meet that the true spectacle begins._

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought!! comments are big motivators for authors :) 
> 
> i hope you stay safe and get through the rest of the year in good health. thank you for reading <3
> 
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